


And to Find Real Amends...

by Fighter1Day



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Amnesia, Asphyxiation, Assault, BDSM Scene, Bathing/Washing, Boot Worship, Catatonia, Coma, Dom/sub, Dreams and Nightmares, Flashbacks, Graphic Description, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Internalized Homophobia, Loss, M/M, Masturbation, Nudity, One-Sided Attraction, Oral Sex, Phase Four (Gorillaz), Phase Three (Gorillaz), Phase Two (Gorillaz), Physical Abuse, Pining, Pre-Gorillaz, Rough Kissing, Violence, Violent Thoughts, some gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2018-11-22 06:57:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 19,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11374953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fighter1Day/pseuds/Fighter1Day
Summary: As beings, we evolve. As individuals, we evolve. Our relationships are no different; yet we cannot always expect the next evolutions. Murdoc, is not exempt from this. His attachment to a comatose Stuart becomes complicated and becomes a driving force in all of their lives.





	1. Phase 0 - When Everything was Outside

            He could feel the calloused fingertips as they stroked his cheek. The way they brushed over his lips. Gentle. Always gentle, as if he would shatter if any pressure was applied. A palm pressed to his jaw, cupping his face, as a forehead pressed against his own. A hand carded through his hair, brushing bangs from his eyes. Blue strands tickled against his nose and he could see again.

            He watched as he himself was watched. _Him_. He was held close to him, buried beneath filthy covers and the stench of discarded beer bottles. His eyes darted across his face, waiting for a response. Black and red, bright as he monitored his charge. Every night he laid awake watching him, desperate for some proof that the body embraced against his own was alive. That he’d watch his cheeks flush when he spoke to him, laughing at those awkward jokes he’d made while he’d been shown around the store.

            “I know you’re in there,” his voice cracked as he pulled the sheets up a little higher. He didn’t flinch when a quiet “know” was parroted back to him. He bit back a grimace, the ache in his chest only grew stronger each time the man echoed him. “Yes, you know it too… we both do.”

            He slid closer to the thin body, an arm wrapping around his waist. Humming, he pressed himself to the other, cradling his head to his chest. He carefully stroked the other’s back, wary of the nails barely scratching at his skin. His attempts to lull him to sleep. It was rare that the man was placed in his custody for a night; those nights he was, he made every effort to comfort and care for him. Pressing his cheek against the top of his head, he willed the man to sleep. He sighed as the day caught up with him, his own lids growing heavy.

            “I’m right here if you need me,” he yawned and kissed the man’s temple. “Just for you, Stu.”

            A soft “need” was the only response, and it was more than enough for him. His heart swelled before he could remind himself that it was normal for the blue haired man to echo him. He shuddered and held the man tighter; he was careful not to hurt the poor lad but squeezed tight enough that the gesture would have shown his gratitude for the utterance, should the man have been responsive.

            Reaching between the two of them, his fingers curled around the soft point of the other’s chin. He tilted his head back, unfocused eyes meeting his own. His thumb swept over a thin lower lip, the pressure just enough to part the pair. Leaning in, he kissed the other. Nothing more than a chaste brush of their lips. Lids sliding shut as he held the man tighter to him. Tender. Gentle.

            Everything he wasn’t.

 

* * *

 

 

            “You can’t be serious, mate.”

            “What’s wrong with it? He can’t feel nothin’ anyways.” A wicked smile crawled across the man’s face. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft, Murdoc?”

            His eyes spark and he grips the man’s collar. “You feel like repeating that?”

            “You’re a softy,” each word punctuated by a pause.

            He forced the man against the wall. His arm dug into his throat, pressing firm against his windpipe. Wide, panicked eyes locked with his own as fingers clawed at the meat of his arm. “If I don’t be careful of what happens him, I go back in.” He gritted his teeth. “I’m not doing that again.” Cocking a fist, he punched the man’s face until blood was smeared from his nose down.

            When he was dropped, he crawled away from Murdoc. He sputtered, struggling to breathe through his broken nose and bloodied maw. “You don’t get it. He’s out, he’s a fucking vegetable. We can do anything to him, Murdoc, and he won’t remember.”

            “What?” He gestured to Stuart, the poor man with a coat slung over his face and muddy boots across his lap. “Lemme get this straight… just because I wouldn’t have to gag the lad, I should use him for rituals?” His friend nodded from where he cowered against the wall. “It’s perfect.”

            “Ya’ get it now, right?”

            Murdoc nodded as he lifted the coat away from his charge’s face. His fingers gentle as he traced his jawline. “Of course, of course, yes.” He waved a hand at the other as he stared into vacant eyes.

            He couldn’t help the way his heart ached as he thought of the different ways he could use the poor man. If anything went wrong, if he mucked _anything_ up he would be risking every part of him. He would risk himself too; nonetheless, he could care less of the punishment he would face. If he followed through with his friend’s suggestion, it would be a justified fate toward which he would march obediently.

            Deep down, he’d tricked himself into believing that his charge trusted him. That he knew the Satanist would take care of him, regardless of intent. The nurses had said he could process what was happening, that he wouldn’t be responsive… but that he was there. That he needed to be _cared_ for. This wasn’t a job, it wasn’t looking after your cousin’s kid so he could take the missus out. The only hope, in the case he failed to serve as a proper guardian, is that he may never recall what happened to and around him.

            “You alright there, Murdoc?” His friend still hadn’t stood from his spot on the floor. He was cautious not to push the other, knowing full well what he could do to him.

            “Out.”

            His eyes grew wide again and he looked between the two. “Now? I just got here.”

            Black and red locked with his own. Fingers clenched tight around the arms of the chair Stuart was propped in. “I _really_ hate repeating myself, mate.” Looking back at the soft, rounded cheeks of his charge, he smirked. “I’d really hate having to get myself dirty in front of the dullard. Really would hate having to ruin all the fun we’re gonna have later.”

            “Oi, I got it. I’ll go,” the man shouted across the room as he crawled towards the door. As soon as he was out of Murdoc’s reach he got onto his feet and ran out the door, slamming the apartment door and rattling its hinges.

            His lips fell as he sighed. Dropping to his knees, he rested his cheek against Stuart’s thigh. Looking up through his fringe, he couldn’t help but smile at the beautiful man. “He’s right, you know.” His hand lays on over the pair, neatly folded in his charge’s lap. “For once though, I don’t want to…”


	2. Phase 0 - Where does it come from?

            After a lot of convincing, Stuart was placed into Murdoc’s care. Long term. The awkward visits that Stuart’s body would make before returning back to his mother’s home were over. He had a place in the apartment until he woke up. When he’d noticed the tears gathering in Mrs. Pot’s eyes, he made sure that she knew she was welcome to visit the pair. That he wasn’t stealing him away from her, just trying to do right for once.

            His mates had all gotten themselves excited about the man that Murdoc was supposed to be in charge of. They kept asking about rituals, how he was going to hide the marks if his mum came over for a visit. If he’d wrap the man in blankets and serve her tea, lying through his teeth about his condition. They asked if he’d bleed him dry, if he’d kill him. One had the balls to ask if he’d barter his soul, to his face. It took a day for that one to crawl out the front door.

            “Bastards,” he rolled his eyes and glanced over at Stuart. He was bundled up in a blanket, propped up on a layer of pillows to watch the weather. His eyes were closed. “Nobody does any research anymore.” Granted he hadn’t considered looking beyond the extreme until after he’d already fucked himself over.

            The weatherman made some joke about how nice it’d be next week. An unusual high of 24o. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sleeping figure. There was a mention of rain, but he was too focused to check the radar. His eyelashes fluttered as he dreamed. Soft, thin lips parted as he breathed, breath catching like he was in pain. Murdoc leaned forward in his chair, ready to comfort the man.

            A whine, almost too quiet to be audible. His eyes blew wide and he was frozen to his seat. “Stu?”

            He whined again, the pitch slightly higher. Just enough for the realization to sink it. It wasn’t a nightmare or some particularly strange dream event. Stuart was getting one of his migraines. Murdoc couldn’t help but blame himself for not noticing sooner. He quickly grabbed the remote, turning the screen off as he got up to shut the blinds. Taking a quick peek back at Stuart, he was starting to get worried. The only thing left he could do was give the man some of the pills his mother had left for him; but he knew it would take time for the pain to pass.

            Kneeling beside the whimpering man he pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Stuart, I’m gonna need your help for this.” He lifted away the blankets, untangling his limbs from the fleece. Murdoc wrapped his arms around the thinner man’s waist so he could lift him into a sitting position. He smiled and patted his shoulder when his eyes peeked open. “There’s a good lad.”

            Tears trickled down his face. Murdoc’s heart felt like it was ripping in two as he dug Stuart’s pills out of the bin underneath the sofa. He read the name and instruction, his own vision blurring as he tried desperately to comfort the whimpering man. Opening the cap, he flicked out two pills. He took hold of his chin and popped open his mouth with gentle pressure. Resting them on his tongue, he sealed his lips. Stroking his throat, it felt wrong to treat him like an animal but he didn’t have any better ideas, he smiled at an audible swallow.

            “There, Stu.” He smiled softly, his hand sliding up to cup his cheek. “You should feel better soon.” Tears escaped his own eyes and he couldn’t help but chuckle at his own weakness. “I’m sorry I didn’t catch on sooner.”

            He buried his face in the man’s lap. Tears stained his charge’s jeans as he muttered a litany of apologies. His skin tinged pink as he choked on the little air he could get into his lungs. His hands sought the warmth of the others, squeezing long fingers tightly. He only pulled away to sit beside him on the sofa and pull him against his chest. He held him close, shaking as he cried into the junction of his neck and shoulder.

            His voice shook, “I’ll do better next time… I promise…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for this being so short, but I felt it deserved it's own chapter.


	3. Phase 0 - Busted and Blue

****“You can’t be fucking serious? How the hell are _you_ outta beer?” His friend riffled through the contents of his fridge before slamming the cabinet doors open in search of a hidden stash. He ran his hands through poorly dyed curls. “You don’t even have the cheap stuff!”

            He groaned and tucked his charge into his bed, the blinds shut to help the man sleep. He was certainly tempted to shout at the redhead to bring his own beer next time, but he knew there would probably not be a next time… especially with Stuart still in his care. Leaving his bedroom, he shut the door as quietly as possible.

            “We need booze. I don’t practice when I’m sober.”

            He growls at the man. Moving too close for his comfort. “You practice when I tell you to, got it, Mitch?” A sharp nail dug into the man’s chest as Murdoc makes his point.

            “Fine, fine,” his voice up an octave as he put his hands up, almost shrugging. “I’m just saying, we should go get something to drink.”

            He jerked a thumb towards the bedroom door. “What the fuck am I s’posed to do with him while we ‘get something to drink’? Can’t tell me the plan isn’t to get shit-fucking-faced.”

            A quick shrug. “Bring him.”

            “And what, leave him in the car?”

            “Yeah.”

 

* * *

 

 

            Murdoc rolled his eyes. It wouldn’t take long, maybe a few minutes tops to run in and out of the store. It was just a quick trip. _Bullshit. Absolute bullshit._ He took a quick peek into the backseat to see that his charge was, in fact, still breathing. The fact that he was still asleep after the argument on the way to the store was impressive, even if he was comatose.

            It’d been half-an-hour now. Either his mate had runoff with his money or he was too stupid to find the beer. The door chimed, drawing his attention as Mitch walked out, surrounded by a group of young women. _Must be holiday_. He watched as the man nodded toward him and the car. The girls giggling, a few waving towards him. Of course, the bastard would try to pick up a few chicks while a comatose stick slept in the backseat.

            Mitch made his way over to the car, knocking on the window until it was rolled down just enough for him to speak through. “You see them birds over there?” He nods at them like the other couldn’t see them without his guidance. Murdoc clears his throat, making it clear he sees them. “If you do some donuts they might be interested in watching us practice.”

            He frowns at the proposal. “Might?”

            “They’re interested, they just want to see us act stupid like they’re some hot shit that’s gotta be earned.” He lowers his voice, “the fact you’ve got that…potato…to take care of makes us seem real great to these chicks. What’s the harm in a little fun?” He nudges your shoulder through the gap.

            “Alright, fine. You owe me.”

            “’Course.” Clapping his hand on the roof of the car he nods before heading back to the women, making a right ass of himself as he “swaggered” over.

            Tired eyes glanced up in the rearview mirror to check on the man laid across the backseat. His eyes locked with Murdoc’s as if he’s watching him through it all. _He’s not worried_. _He’s not jealous_. Murdoc scoffed at himself for such immature thoughts. “Better hold on tight, Stu.”

            It all happened too fast. The donuts were executed with practiced ease. Perfect speed, perfect degree, perfect control. He idled the car to gauge the women’s reactions. Not everybody was as impressed as the others, something he hadn’t thought was a possibility. One doll hoisted up her top to flash him, trying to tease him into a few more donuts. He took off again, irritated at the disinterest. The tires screeching as they spun on the pavement, rotating until they found purchase on the crumbling lot surface, before lurching the car forward. His focus was still on the bird.

            Until he hit the concrete cylinder. The front end creaked as the metal bent. He slammed into a partially inflated airbag, breathe knocked out of him. Glass shattered, though he wasn’t sure if it was the windshield or the windows. He wheezed. Fingers paling as they tightened, painfully, around the air. _Fuck._         

 

* * *

 

 

            He groaned. His body ached, his arms and face burning. The world was empty at first. He couldn’t hear the shrill screams above the dull ringing and the sound of his own heart racing in his ears. He could barely see the black asphalt, couldn’t make out the wet, red markings in front of him. His fingers twitched, an involuntary, painless motion as his function returned.

            The sound smacked into him and made his head whirl. There were women screaming from somewhere nearby; a man, too, cursing and screaming just as high as the ladies. He coughed and it thudded in his chest, a dull pain compared to the rest. A hissing noise drew his attention up from the asphalt. That sound in all the movies, the one right before a massive, climactic explosion.

            His eyes were wide, frantic as he searched for the cause. His vision was obscured and he felt like crying. He needed to find where the hiss was coming from before he… before… he wasn’t sure. His mind was racing and producing hundreds of ways he could die in the next few seconds, but it was hard to keep track of the delusions as he panicked. The thick haze blocking most of his vision didn’t fade, didn’t worsen, but he couldn’t decide which he would prefer.

            He coughed again and his mind was pulled out of his thoughts by the pain in his chest. Looking around he couldn’t see, but he could move. _Get up_. He whined as he moved his legs, they stung as they were peeled off the ground. Pushing up, he lifted his chest from the ground with a weak cry. He realized then that tears had begun to stream down his face as they made little scratches in his cheeks burn. _Get up._ He bit his lip as he pressed against his thigh to stand, the skin wet and torn.

            Pain had wholly consumed him. It crackled behind his eyes as he struggled to see, squinting in desperation to make out something beyond the haze. All he could make out was…maybe the smashed front end of a car and something slightly too green to be a man behind the wheel. Taking shaky steps, feet shuffling across the lot, he moved toward the accident. Each step was agonizing, each breath a gasp as he fought every urge to lay down. The closer he got, the more it made sense. It was _that_ man.

            The man who’d been coming in and out of the store for a week. He’d clung to his side and asked about synthesizers. Asked if he could demo him; flirting with reckless abandon, not caring who heard whatever cliché line tumbled from his lips. He couldn’t deny that he had flirted back. That he hadn’t arched his back into a gentle hand pressed to the small of his back, a coy smile across his face, as mismatched eyes watched him. He’d made himself a little business card the night before, his subtle attempt to give the man his number; but he had just crashed his car through the store window.

            His feet stopped. _That’s right._ He could see the man more clearly. See through the shattered windshield and the milky haze. The man’s eyes were wide, staring rather boldly at the man he’d nearly killed. He could see the way the man grinned. He’d just done something incredibly short sighted, driving through the storefront and all, but he looked like he just had the single greatest idea of his life. Like somehow… he’d done something right…

            The pain seemed only to get worse, tearing at his skull. The man’s face scrunched up as he pressed the heels of his palms to his temples. He collapsed to his knees, no longer registering bodily pain as he cradled his head. Whines, almost inhuman, slipped from his lips as a migraine clawed its way to the surface of his consciousness. He could only just see the man reaching for him as he began to crumple to the ground, limbs loose and buzzing with numbness. What little of his vision he had, faded before he knew if the man had once again saved him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, this will probably be my favorite chapter.  
> Quick note: I am being a bit cruel in that Stuart literally remembers nothing.


	4. Phase 2 - A Shadow on the Wall

            Noodle laughed at him. She couldn’t believe he had done it, that he had found it just as fun as she did. He pouted, glancing down at his toes. He rather liked them like this. He knew that it was supposed to be a silly dare, but it wasn’t like many people would see his toenails. She had meticulously painted each one; Russel had even helped to pick a different color for each toe. He wasn’t going to question why Russel had so many polishes, but he couldn’t argue with his tastes.

            “I like ‘em,” he nodded and looked up at the pair.

            They laughed harder. Russel patted him on the back, nearly knocking the wind out of him. “Come on, you look ridiculous.”

            He fidgeted with a spot where the young girl had painted onto his skin. “That’s just ‘cause you picked out different colors.” He started to giggle as he tried to think of which color would look best on him. Looking over at Noodle as she curled in on herself as she laughed at his expense, he suddenly grabbed her, wrapping her in a hug and thanking her. He smiled at Russel and thanked him as well, appreciating some quality time with the both of them between practices.

            “No problem,” Russel chuckled, wiping a tear from his eye. “Anything for our little Noodle!”

            Stuart frowned for a second, _it’s not that funny… is it?_ He nodded in agreement anyway, more than happy to entertain their guitarist. “What do you wanna do now?”

            There wasn’t a response. Noodle stopped laughing and Russel tensed beside him, fingers clenching into a tight fist. It took a moment for him to hear the heavy footsteps approaching the living room over his tinnitus and he suck deeper into the couch cushions. He couldn’t hide for long, but he could slink out of reach before Murdoc had the chance to swing at him. The sound of glass shattering on the concrete in the hallway had Noodle sitting as close to her band mates as possible.

            _Don’t move_. He whimpered when the steps stopped in the hallway, just outside of the archway into the common area. “Has anybody seen faceache?” The words were slurred, drowning in the man’s drunkenness.

            He could feel his eyes on him through the padding of the couch. His fingers twitched as he waited for the man to move on, knowing that the pair disliked him more than the Christian mothers of young fans disliked their music. But the older man was stubborn. He waited for a response, and when he didn’t get one, he took a few cautious steps into the space.

            “No!”

            He could hear the other’s growl at the way Noodle had responded. Her prompt command did little to deter Murdoc; rather, it had told him exactly where he was. “C’mon! I just need him to look over some new lyrics.”

            A few more steps, wary of the young guitarist and the heavy drummer, but enough to assert himself as a threat. One that Russel had no qualms in responding to, “man, you better go back to whatever hole you just crawled out of. I think she means business after last time.”

            “I’m serious!” He chuckled, approaching the couch like he hadn’t had his nose and a rib broken before. From where he was standing, he could see the tips of trembling blue spikes. “’Sides I can see ‘em; the dullard’s right fucking there.” Murdoc gestured at what little of the azure head he could see.

            Wide, white eyes peeked over the edge of the couch. They were wet with tears. His cheeks bright pink as he gnawed at his lower lip. “I’m hanging out with Noodle and Russ, though,” his voice cracked as he spoke.

            The bassist sneered, “you can play with them when we’re done. Come on, be a good lad.” He patted his lap, calling him like a dog.

            “You’ve really gotta stop doing shit like that.” Russel took hold of Stuart’s shoulder when he began to stand, forcing him back onto the couch. “And _you_ are going to stay right here until that man treats you with a little respect.”

            Murdoc cleared his throat. “You think that’s gonna stop me? That you told 2D to sit?” He chuckled. “Maybe you should tell him to stay too.” His lower lip trembled against his teeth, the tears threatening to spill as Murdoc drew closer. “Because I feel like I still have the upper hand.”

            The others froze as their companion screamed. He lashed out at the hand buried in his hair, tugging him over the back of the couch. Tears poured down his face as his back slammed into the concrete flooring, allowing the bastard to tear at the hair in his grasp. He kicked his legs as he struggled to kind purchase, to stand and follow the bassist. Murdoc gave him no chance. He was dragged down the halls and into the studio. Once the door was shut, he was released. He slid back against the wall in a ball as he tried to soothe the ache in his scalp.

            “Alright,” Murdoc groaned as he stretched his fingers. “Are you going to behave now?” he rolled his eyes and leaned closer to him, hovering over the shaking man, a flat palm cocked back in a silent threat. “I asked you a question.”

            The man nodded frantically. “Yes, Mudz.”

            He smirked. Even after the abuse the younger continued to use pet names for him. _So sweet. Too sweet._ His face fell and he turned away from the other. He couldn’t stop the thoughts. The constant reminders that he would never be good enough for his front man; that his sins and his past made him worthless. That no matter what he did, he would never be redeemed and he could never out run his record.

            His fingers curled into a fist, standing to his full height. Walking towards the sound boards, he slid a notebook from the table. The edges were thin from fingers flipping thru the pages, from the thoughtless recording of ideas and sounds. He watched Stuart as he searched for his most recent addition. Watched his, _his_ , singer as his posture slackened and he sighed. A page tore between his fingers, the fragile pages demanding his full attention.

            _Aha! There she is._ He smiled down at the other. Waving the notebook in his hands he kneeled before Stuart and offered it to him. “Now, think about this after that “Feel Good Inc.” track. A change of tune, but still the same part of the story.”

            Fingers brushed against his own as he took the notebook, nodding quietly. The Satanist pulled away, nearly dropping the book in the other’s lap. He almost forgot he was trying to “play it cool” and keep the man away from him at all cost. Almost sighed at the gentleness of his singer’s touch, no callouses to make his fingers rough like his own. Almost allowed himself to drift off in front of him; letting himself seem weak to the other.

            Stuart pouted, blaming his lack of coordination for the tumbling notebook. He mumbled an apology and brought it closer so that he could read it. He knew that whether he liked it or not, the song would likely be on the album if he was thinking about its impact on the album. Before beginning to read, he pressed the book back into Murdoc’s hands.

            “Wouldn’t it be easier if I heard it?”

            He swallowed hard. “You’re the singer.”

            Stuart nodded calmly. “Yeah, but,” his voice dropped as he spoke, “it’s your song. You know how you want it to sound.”

            Mismatched eyes rolled, he growled as he went to get a guitar from one of the cases along the walls. “I’m only gonna do this once, so pay attention.”

            “Thank you, Mudz.”

            He blushed, thankful he was still occupied with the guitar. When he’d finally willed away the pink from his cheeks he sat close to his singer. Testing out a couple of the chords, he began to strum something that seemed too soft. It was unsettling. A change of tune just as he had said it would be. The bassist cleared his throat, clearly frustrated he had to do it all himself.

            “Summer don't know me, he just let me love in my sea. Cause I do know, Lord, from you that just died, yeah,” his voice cracked as he sang. Although it was hard to listen to, Stuart couldn’t help but lean in closer to the other. The sound was there, and he swayed, just barely noticeably, as Murdoc continued, “I saw that day, lost my mind. Lord, I'll find, maybe in time you'll want to be mine.”

            He reached forward, carefully taking the notebook into his own lap as he finished the chorus. Glancing between the pages and the bassist, he began to sing the next verse, “Don't stop the buck when it comes. It's the dawn, you'll see money won't get there. Ten years passed tonight, you'll flee.” His voice came out just as soft as the other’s had. It got caught in his throat, making him sound breathless, the epitome of longing and desperation.

            Murdoc stopped playing, frozen just before the bridge. Stuart caught himself before he began the chorus and curled in on himself, fearing that he had angered his bandmate. “2D, that was perfect. Absolutely spot on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, not sorry. I am an evil person.


	5. Phase 3 - To Rule Over Us All

           Nothing had changed, but everything had. They had gone their separate ways after Demon Days. Granted the incident with Noodle had been the primary reason; and Russel had ultimately lost it over the “death” of the child he’d loved so dearly. After all the work he’d put in to pull his heart back from the singer, he only found his heart ached more with the distance.

            He’d been trapped on this infernal island for a while now. Cyborg had been completed and did regular patrols. It, _she_ , would do his menial housework and major repairs to the island itself. In between his attempts to cook and making Cyborg, he’d managed to piece together a few songs. Complete rough demo tracks for a few, lacking the finesse of a skilled keyboard player and a real orchestra like he imagined. These things could be fixed if he just got the band back together.

            Stuart had just been delivered to the island. The suitcase handled with a little less care than he’d prefer, but he was glad to see that his singer had been returned to him in one piece. He was dazed when he tried to lift himself from the luggage, arms flailing as he struggled to find footing with numb feet. He rolled his eyes and took the singer’s hand, trying desperately to ignore the shocks that travelled up his arm at the touch.

            “Thanks,” came a hoarse mumble as Stuart stood up. He rested some of his weight on Murdoc’s shoulder, not even realizing who he was with as his eyes adjusted to the harsh sunlight. “Say, um, do y’know where I am?”

            He grinned, clapping the man on back. “’Course! You’re on Plastic Beach, Point Nemo, our new HQ.” Leaning in close, now that his mate had recognized his voice and was trembling, he hissed, “welcome home, faceache.”

            Wide eyes drained of their color as Stuart took it all in. “Christ, Murdoc, you didn’t have to do this. Why’d you…” His eyes fell on Cyborg. Long fingers covered his face as he tried to process what he was seeing. Tears fell down his cheeks as he looked back to the other man. “What?”

            “Oh, right, forgot me manners. Cyborg, this is 2D; 2D, this is Cyborg.”

            “Cy-cyborg?”

            He nodded, patting the mechanical girl on her head. “I couldn’t very well get the band back together without our guitarist. I searched all over the wreckage, but I couldn’t find her anywhere. I very nearly went to Japan to look for her for the hell of it–.”

            “You replaced her?”

            Murdoc froze, his face paling as he considered the accusation. “I didn’t replace Noodle.”

            “Then what the fuck is that?”

            “That’s… um…” He hadn’t considered her as a replacement. He hadn’t _meant_ for her to replace her. He’d never though that Noodle could be replaced, but now he couldn’t help but wonder if that is what he had done. “Cyborg is my bodyguard and functions as the Beach’s keeper; she just happens to play guitar really well.”

            Stuart just stared at him. His lower lip quivered and tears still dripped down his cheeks. He refused to look at Cyborg; unable to determine how much his heart had broken knowing he could be fooled by a machine. He tried to find the urge to slap the other, leave a red imprint on his rotten, green face, but he couldn’t do it. There were no words to describe how crestfallen he was. No way to express his anger at being stolen away from what scrap of a life he could have had, again.

            His shoulders drooped and he looked up at Murdoc through his bangs, “I can’t say no, right?”

            “Not a chance in Hell.”

           

* * *

 

 

           “I’m not singing this until you tell me how much sea water you drank,” Stuart squawked from the sound booth.

           “Just do it.”

           “There’s only six bloody lines.”

           Murdoc slammed a hand on the table, smirking at the way the other man flinched. “It shouldn’t be this hard then. Just say the fucking lines and we’ll be done. You can go back to that room of yours and consider how much easier all this would be if you’d cooperate once in your pathetic life, if you’d just do what I tell you to.”

           The blue haired man stood perfectly still as he watched the other man bury his face in his hands. He frowned when the other lifted a bottle from beneath the desk. His fingers picked at the scabs on his arms, running over the bruises left by the other man from when he’d tried to sneak away. His aggression had never been quite so obvious before; he couldn’t decide if it was the lack of Noodle and Russel, or the amount the man was drinking. He gnawed at his lower lip, lost in thought as he wondered what was going on in the bassist’s head.

           “I told you to start singing.”

           “Murdoc,” he couldn’t find the words. “I…I don’t want to sing this. It doesn’t make any sense to me.”

           He watched as Murdoc stood from his chair, knocking the furniture over as he moved to the door. His eyes blew wide, draining of color as he heard the keys in the door. He pressed himself into the wall as the door flung open. Shrinking as much as possible, he curled into a ball on the floor. His arms flat over his head and neck.

           A steel-toed boot slammed through his defenses and into his stomach. He cried out as he was kicked again, unfurling to protect his abdomen. Fingers wrapped tightly around the back of his exposed neck and he was hoisted up from the floor. Tears poured down his cheeks as he was pressed against the wall, the hand sliding to the front of his throat. His hands clung tight to the other’s wrist as he began to squeeze.

           “I told you to sing, dullard. You have no power here.” He pressed himself against the other, a silent emphasis of the power he held over the taller man.

           Eyelids fluttered and Stuart convulsed in his grasp. He clawed at his arm as digits tightened. Gasps and wheezes were the only audible sound as the other fought to breathe.  His eyes rolled back and he fell limp in his grasp, collapsing onto his shoulder. Murdoc growled and removed his fingers from his singer’s throat. He let the other drop to the floor, ignored the thud of his head as it struck the floor.


	6. Phase 3 - To Amplify the Sirens

Stuart lay still beneath his window. Tears dripped down his cheeks. His lips were parted as he cried, silently. There was no comfort to be found in what little sanctuary he had, the camera whirring as it zoomed in on his hunched figure. He whined softly. Fingers clenching the fabric of the blanket, keeping it wrapped tightly around his figure.

Murdoc frowned at the screen. He’d fucked it all up. _You destroy everything you touch_. He threw his bottle at the wall, knocking a flask from the table in his fit. _You destroyed him_. He screamed and punched the wall, his hand going through the plaster. The bassist withdrew his hand, filthy with rum and dust, and turned away from the screen.

“Cyborg,” he called weakly from his chair. She responded only by approaching him, waiting for his instructions. “We still have some of that… whatever it was last night, right?”

She nodded.

“Would you be a dear and take some down to 2D?”

A few quiet whirrs before she responded, her voice reminiscent of a nightmare he’d had as a child, “he didn’t eat any last night.”

“Well, take him a fresh plate. I can’t remember if I had you take him down some breakfast or not.” He reached for the flask from the ground, opening it quietly and raising it to his lips as he waited.

“You did. He hasn’t eaten anything since you locked him in his room.”

He froze, a little whiskey spilling down his chin. His attention turned back to the monitor. “Right… then make sure he eats.”

Cyborg nodded and left him to prepare a plate for the singer. He watched the screen that showed the hallway outside the singer’s room, waiting for her to appear. His eyes flickered back to his flask and he sealed the container while he waited. He decided that a drink could wait until he had ensured the scrawny man would eat. A buzz alerted him to Cyborg unlocking the door to 2D’s room, her eyes locked on the hallway camera.

When the door was swung open, both turned their attention to Stuart. Cyborg was slow in approaching him. She set the plate down by his feet before moving about the room, sorting the untouched meals to take them back upstairs. She glanced back at him, watching him. Another whirring sound and a sharp click, she turned her head to the camera. He hadn’t moved, not even a fraction of a millimeter. Murdoc scowled at the screen, waiting for her to press him to eat.

She didn’t disappoint. Moving closer to the bed, she picked up the plate to set it back down, a little nearer to his head. She spoke without the man flinching. Pressing a hand to him, she shoved him a bit. Just enough to roll him onto his back, where he stayed…unmoving. She stepped away, clearly not expecting this result. Her head turned to face the camera, but Murdoc didn’t see the questioning glance.

He was already running down the stairs, the elevator too slow for him. His heart drummed in his chest as he slammed into the door jamb. He grimaced and clutched his shoulder, entering the room. His eyes were on the bundled figure. There was no movement as he approached the bed. The man didn’t flinch as he leaned over, didn’t stop the quiet whines. The tears that slipped down his cheeks didn’t stop.

He pressed the palm of his hand against the singer’s forehead. “Faceache?” No response. His chest felt tight as he sat beside the other on the bed, pressing blue bangs out of barely open eyes. “Stu?”

When the man didn’t respond, he choked back a sob. _You’ve broken him._ _You’ve finally killed him._ Tears began to well in his own eyes as he pulled the singer against him. He wrapped himself around the other, a hand sliding to rest in the small of his back as the other smoothed the hair on the back of his head. The pitch of Stuart’s whines shifted as injuries were pressed against.

His eyes took in what little was exposed of the man. His neck wrapped in a prominent bruise, his fingers defined against the paleness of his skin. Cuts and bruises littered his chest. _You did this to him._ His eyes, still wet with tears, had slid shut as Murdoc began to trace the markings. He made no move, his shallow breathing speeding as fingertips brushed a particularly nasty scab on his shoulder.

He wanted to lay the other back down. To tuck him in, make him as comfortable as possible in his bed. To kneel beside him. To beg for his forgiveness, falling apart as the tears began to fall down his cheeks. His brow furrowed and he pressed his forehead to the other’s. He couldn’t apologize. _You’d never mean it. You’d just rip him apart the moment he’d come back to you._ He could never, truly, make amends with the singer…

…no matter how desperately he wanted to…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nobody really cares, but I'm sorry so many of these chapters are itty bitty.


	7. Phase 3 - To Other Worlds Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt bad about the tiny chapter, so here is a second upload.

He was nestled in Murdoc’s bed. Thick, freshly laundered sheets and quilts were drawn up to his chin. The blinds were drawn, shutting out the bright morning sun. The room was surprisingly void of broken and empty liqueur bottles, the ash trays emptied and cleaned, the clothes put away…

He’d been relocated since his body had disconnected from his mind. Since Murdoc had come running into his room. Since Murdoc had cried into his chest. Since he had… embraced him. Gentle touches in place of the brutality that he’d inflicted. He’d been removed from his cage and brought into the world above.

“Stu?” Murdoc came from somewhere out of his field of vision.

He was quiet and calm, his fingers picking at his nails as he sat beside him in the bed. This nervous energy was familiar to him, though he was certain the bassist had never acted this way in front of him. He wanted to reach out to the man and shake him out of it. The unpredictability, itself, was worse than receiving a beating for sitting too close to his locked bedroom door.

He was pulled from his thoughts as cold hand cupped his cheek. Murdoc leaned over him, pressing his free hand into the mattress beside the singer to support himself. It was too dark to read his face until he sunk closer to him. The older man smiled at him, kissing his forehead before he stood up again.

“I’m glad you’re up, Dents.” He began to fold down the covers, pausing when Stuart gasped at the sudden exposure. “It’s alright,” he murmured as he calmly took his hand in his own. “We just need to get you a bath, then I promise I’ll let you rest some more.”

A tiny squeak escaped Stuart when he was lifted into Murdoc’s arms. His own fell limp between them as he was carried away from the bedroom, his fingers clenched tightly around the collar of his shirt. He could feel the pressure of the other man resting his head against his own. He could hear the other chattering to him, feel the vibrations of his chest as he laughed, even as he chose to ignore the sounds. His attention was on the increasing beat of the other’s heart. The thudding in his chest a surprise to him.

“Stuart, I’m gonna set you down now. Gotta get you ready for your bath.”

“You.”

Murdoc blushed, holding the man a little tighter to his chest. “Just you. This is your bath, just for you.” He kneeled down and set him on the toilet.

The singer’s fingers turned white around the collar of his shirt, his eyes wide but unseeing. “You.”

He chuckled, bending forward to press a kiss on his cheek. “You don’t want me in the bath with you.” Stuart’s head bobbed, a tic most likely, but it made Murdoc freeze against him. “Sweet Satan, what the hell, mate.”

Supporting the thin man with one hand, he went about tugging the soft pajama bottoms down and off his legs. He stroked twitching thighs, trying to relax him before he continued to strip the other. His attention turned to the diaper, which, thankfully, was clean. He tossed it in the rubbish bin, struggling only slightly with the vice-like grip on his shirt.

“You,” Stuart mumbled.

His cheeks flushed and he turned back to face the other. “Now you’re just being an arse.” Thin lips parted to echo him again and he groaned, “Fine, but this was your idea.”

 _This is the worst decision of your life._ He rolled his eyes and tapped a thin wrist, 2D releasing the fabric from his grasp. Gripping the bottom of the moth chewed sweater, he rolled it over his head. It was quickly dropped as Murdoc’s hands went to undo his belt and jeans. He froze when he recognized the heat pooling just below his navel. _Do it, you sick fuck._

He shut his eyes, willing away the thoughts that had begun to flood his mind. Pulling the denim down, he hissed as at the exposure. He sat on the edge of the bath to free his ankles from the fabric. His arm brushed against his member and his shoulder twitched. _You’re disgusting; you know that, right?_ He quietly stood, tossing his jeans aside.

“You ready, Dents?” His hands settling against a narrow waist. He lifted his charge again, just enough to pivot and set him in the warm water. A tiny sigh escaping his lips. “You like that, huh?”

Holding him up, regardless of the fact the singer was capable of remaining in whatever position he was forced into, Murdoc slipped into the water behind the other. He leaned the thinner man back against his chest, enjoying the moment for as long as he would allow himself. Stuart’s eyes slid shut as he muscular arms wrapped around his middle. He whined at the gentle touches as the Satanist nuzzled the pale junction of neck and shoulder. _Just fuck him already_.

Murdoc startled at the intrusive thought. His cock aching as he thought about how foolish he was for joining the other, for cuddling with him like this. As he thought about how soft the man was. How receptive he was to his guiding touches and embraces. Capturing his chin, he twisted Stuart’s head just enough that he could admire his face. Big, beautiful eyes met his own. They were barely open as he leaned forward, capturing his lips against his own. An electric spark shot up his spine. He nibbled on his lower lip, begging for entrance into his mouth. Groaning, his cock throbbing as he desperately pressed against the other.

A quiet hum and he ceased, pulling away with wide eyes. The other stared through him, his lips wet and red with abuse. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” He reached for the washcloth hanging within reach. He was silent as he soaped it up and proceeded to wash 2D, just as he had planned. Trying to be gentle as he wiped away grime from the man’s arms. He scrubbed his back, scratching at a few spots that he knew he liked.

This domestic shit didn’t suit him. _You’re just like your father. You prey on the weak._ He scowled and rinsed away the suds from the singer’s torso. Taking special care with his thin wrists, pressing tender kisses to them. _You destroy everything. You can’t do anything else._ He wrapped his arms around the other, shaking as he tried to ground himself. As he tried to correct another one of his mistakes.

_You are a mistake._


	8. Phase 3 - Beam a Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While it remains in 3POV, I am shifting a majority of this chapter to Stu's perspective.

He sighed. It was another involuntary sound. A hand traced lazy circles into the small of his back as Murdoc spoke. He was held close to the other; his head resting on the man’s bare chest. The hand stilled, lying flat as the Satanist hummed in response.

“I wish I wasn’t such an ass all the time.” He blinked, convinced that he was hallucinating. “I wish that I had handled you waking up… you _forgetting_ me… better.”

_Forgetting? How do you forget a man who runs you over?_

“Come on, love, we need to go to bed.” Fingers guided his chin up so that Murdoc could stare into his eyes. “You should get some rest,” his voice low as he craned his head down to kiss him.

He still couldn’t piece together why he did this. Why the very man who’d threatened to, and nearly had, kill him would whisper such gentle things against his lips. Why he’d hold him like he was a priceless piece of china. He’d smooth his hands across his body and tell him he was beautiful.  He didn’t understand how a man could inflict so much pain on somebody he would cradle against him. The confusion was disorienting; made him wish that the words, the kisses, the embraces would all stop…

But he wanted them to never stop.

His thoughts stopped as he felt the other take a deep breathe. “…Someone to rely on as lightning comes a staring in again.” He was singing, his voice hushed, “I'll wait to be forgiven, maybe I never will; my star has left me to take the bitter pill.” You could feel him as he watched you, his fingertips sliding up and down the expanse of your back. “That shattered feeling, well the cause of it's a lesson learned. Just don't know if I could roll into the sea again. Just don't know if I could do it all again she said, ‘it's true.’”

He desperately wanted to shake the man. Make him stop. His voice was tugging at him, at every rational part of his mind that was screaming for him to disconnect. To stop listening to the words that flowed so smoothly from that rotten mouth. He twitched against the sheets, and Murdoc drew him further up his chest to kiss his temple.

He seemed lost for a moment, brow furrowing as he stared into the other’s eyes. “I'm caught again in the mystery. You're by my side, but are you still with me?” He smiled, genuinely. It was the softest expression Stuart had ever seen as the top of his head was stroked almost in a manner that felt too sweet. “The answer's somewhere deep in it; I'm sorry that you’re feeling it, but I just have to tell you that I love you so much these days.”

His head jerked up and Murdoc startled. Pupils contracting as he stared at Stuart; his heart racing beneath his fingers. His face paled. Tears began to well in his eyes as he tried to tell himself that the bliss was over. That he’d be forgotten all over again. He hissed and squeezed his eyes tight as a hand cupped his cheek.

“Murdoc?”  

He opened his eyes to see the singer leaning over him. Close enough that he could see himself in the other’s eyes. He tried to respond, choking out sounds as he stared at himself.

“Mudz?”

“Faceache,” he tried to sound like himself, arrogant and stronger than the other, but the sound came out an octave too high.

“Why?” He sucked in a breath, not sure what the singer was asking about. “Why are you doing this to me?” Tears were gathering in his own eyes as he stared at his band mate. “Fucking answer me.”

“I’m sorry…”

Murdoc made no sound when Stuart’s palm clapped against his cheek. He didn’t move to soothe the sting. “You can’t say that…after everything you’ve done to me. You nearly killed me and you knocked my fucking teeth out, but you still think you have the right to do this to me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No.” He pulled away, angry tears streaming down his face. “You can’t _just_ apologize for stealing away my chances to have a normal life.” He ignored the way Murdoc flinched beneath him. “You _ruined_ me.”

The other didn’t respond. Stuart had never seen that look in his eyes before. Never seen him submit to another person. “You’re right, Stu.”

He frowned at the man beneath him. “Fuck you.”

“Yea… I got that.”

“You can’t just fucking…” He sat back, his weight settling on Murdoc’s thighs. “You can’t do this to me. What gives you the right? You act like your bloody father,” his face fell and he swallowed his pride because he knew the singer wasn’t done, he had no reason not to be, “beat the shit outta me one second and then the next you want…”

Stuart struggled to find the words. He sputtered, tears and snot dribbling down his flushed face. His head turned away when he felt a hand against his cheek, the cautious touch almost burning him. It settled lax atop his thigh instead.

“What the fuck do you want with me Murdoc?”

He hummed, “I want what I can’t have.”

“You’re a piece of shit, a right tosser.”

“Yeah…”

He was slapped again. “Stop agreeing with me, dammit. What’s happened to you?”

He sobbed, loud and ugly. He wanted to tell him everything. How he’d postponed the robbery when he’d walked into the store and seen him. How he’d wanted to walk him right out of there and into his life. He could hardly look into those eyes, the years of hurt and abuse facing him back, and tell him that he’d loved him and had tried to show him that before. That he’d already given everything he could to him, made himself completely vulnerable. He wanted desperately to wrap his arms around the other and tell him the truth…

…but he couldn’t. He didn’t have the right. Stuart was right. He acted like his father. He drank himself into oblivion and took whatever he pleased at whatever the cost. He was convinced that he not only acted as that rotten man, but had _become_ him as well. That he was just as worthless as the elder Niccals was.

“You’re wrong.”

Stuart choked, snorting at the response. “I’m wrong?” He shook his head. “I’m wrong? I wasn’t just pressed against you with nothing but a pair of your pants on, while you serenaded me.”

“I don’t act like my father…” His voice dropped, quiet as he said it more for himself than for the singer, “I am my father.”

“Fuck you.”

He laid still. He let the other spit at him, on him. Didn’t react when a fist clocked him in the jaw. He flinched, maybe, when his chest was pounded against. He wouldn’t respond. _You deserve this._ And he truly believed it. He deserved worse than having the breath knocked out of his chest and another broken nose. He laid still beneath Stuart, letting him release years of pent up anger and hurt. _He deserves so much more._ He barely registered when the other stood to leave. He could barely hear the muttered, “should kill yourself” as he wheezed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't even started the next chapter... Where do we go from here?


	9. Phase 3 - Where do they come From?

Murdoc screamed. He kneeled on the cold ceramic of the bath, letting the chilled water run over him. The steady streams across his body, his face, hid the tears that rolled down his face. They mingled with the fresh water, dripping from his chin and down the drain. He screamed, angry and disappointed. Self-hatred boiling just beneath the surface as he vented.

His cock ached between his legs. No amount of vile thought could chase away the desperate need. He groaned, shivering beneath the spray that couldn’t cool his skin. Nails bit into his thighs as he tried terribly to will away the heat, the thoughts, the memories of the way his body fit against his own.

He shook his head, sobbing on the ground.

* * *

 

He woke up beneath the porthole. The curtains drawn over the thick glass, allowing only a few, stray beams of light to cross the room. It was silent, save for the mechanics that kept the island functional. He was thankful, the whale seemed to be gone. Apparently having gotten used to his absence. None of its horrid singing or blocking out the light to his room.

Standing, he stretched his limbs. They were sore from the effort he had put into beating the other. His arms were heavy, best kept by his sides as he searched the room for clothes. Something to cover himself, every part of his body. A long sleeve tee, a decent pair of jeans. He dug around the room, seeking a pair of trainers. He either found a left or a right, but never a pair; and sure, the only “person” who’d see them was Cyborg but he couldn’t help but want them to match.

“’Course,” he rolled his eyes and groaned.

The only paired shoes he found were boots. They were thick, heavy. They were a solid pair. But he knew they weren’t his and they were too big to belong to Cyborg. Frowning he lifted them by their laces and set about trying to ensure they’d stay on his feet.

His stomach growled and his eyes focused on the door. Either Murdoc would be too busy sulking to come down to lock him back in, or he’d ensure he never left the room again until he gave into his disgusting… He shook his head to shake himself free from such a dirty thought.

They kept bombarding him. Images from when Murdoc had bathed with him, the way his hips had pressed into his lower back. Images from when he’d been taken care of, hands sliding across his body and ghosting over his nipples. The kisses that had been planted on every surface of his body. He growled as they all came racing back to him.

“Fuck him.” He stood and crossed the room to his door, clutching the handle painfully tight. “Fucking disgusting.”

The door was unlocked and he followed the hall to the elevator, not bothering to shut the door behind him. It was in poor shape, clicking and squealing as it ascended to the main floor. The car came to a halt, shaking as it settled. He groaned as the doors slid open, one seeming to catch before squeaking the rest of the way open.

Stepping out he caught sight of Cyborg. She turned to face him. Her face didn’t move at all, no expression as she nodded to him and then a place at the rotting table beside the counters. He decided not to challenge her and moved to take a seat. He’d heard Murdoc rambling to him about her designs and programs, about the guns and Noodle’s fighting skills.

She grinned and her attention returned to what was cooking on the stove. Stuart sat idly. He watched as she moved, sharp movements breaking up smooth motions as she prepared…whatever she was making. He sighed and looked out across the room, at the rubbish scattered across the floor. His fingers tapped at the table and he rested his head against the wall. He stared at the stains on the ceiling, wondering what the Satanist had been doing before he was deposited on the island.

“Stu?”

His face grew hot when he heard the man’s voice. He turned to face him, taking in the sight before him. The man was more red than green. His right eye bruised and swollen shut, the other puffy and red from what Stuart could only assume was crying. Markings and bruises littered his arms. A loose shirt hid most of the damage. It couldn’t hide the way his nose was still a little extra off-center.

“Stu?” he repeated himself, softer this time as if genuinely afraid of the younger man.

He rolled his eyes, _I need to take advantage of this_. “What do you want?” He took a half step back, glancing at the floor. _He’s been put in his place. All this time all you had to do was strike back_.

“I wanted to apologize.”

He frowned at the man, tempted to laugh. “For what? Being a sick, manipulative fuck?”

The way the other grimaced at his words was almost delicious. Crooked fingers toyed at the end of the shirt, twisting in the fabric. He finally had power. He was finally the one to watch another squirm at his words, made unsafe and unsure with each vocalization.

“No…”

“’Course you don’t.”

His eye opened wide and he blindly took a few steps closer. “No, 2D, that’s not what I meant. I wanted to…”

“Just shut up.” He stood up, knocking the chair out from under him. He leaned across the table. “You don’t really wanna apologize. You just want me to take off my clothes, bend myself over the table, and let you have your way with me. You couldn’t actually apologize if your life depended on it.”

“Stop.”

He scoffed. “I don’t think you are in any position to tell me what to do.” He took a step forward, sneering down at the other. “You’re half hard and all I’ve done is insult you. I broke your nose yesterday and you still want me to do what?” He hummed. His eyebrows were raised, as if asking him what he wanted.

“Fuck y-…” he grunted before he could finish his curse.

His hand tightened. A small whimper slipped from Murdoc’s lips as Stuart leaned down to whisper, “I’m sure you’d like that, fag.” He opened his palm and slid it down to his thigh. An eyelid fluttered as the man struggled to respond. “That’s what I thought; nothing but a horny, old piece of shit.” He kneed the other, enjoying the satisfaction of seeing him crumple to the ground.

He was about to walk away. Leave the other man groaning, clutching himself, on the dirty floor. He smirked and approached the man. The toe of his boot just inches from a swollen cheek. “Please, Stu…”

It was hard to admit he didn’t enjoy the sight of the man cowering beneath him, curled in on himself as he lifted one foot. He kicked him hard in the side. The Satanist was rolled onto his back, wincing as his hands went to his ribs. His brow furrowed as he planted the same foot onto the other’s chest. His lips peeled away, his charming toothy grin nothing short of malicious, at the weak wheezing from Murdoc as he applied pressure. He dragged his foot down the man’s torso. Pressing none too gently against the other’s head.

“You could prove to me that you aren’t like the rubbish you’re laying in.” He chuckled, the sound disgusting as he rocked his heel. “Show me how much you love me.”

The black-haired man whined at the pressure, head tilting back against the tile. His eye narrowed at the other, desperate to understand his motives. _Harder, punish him._ He cried out when Stuart pressed his boot harder onto his member. Whimpering as the pressure moved from base to tip.

“Stu…” He whined, weak and helpless from the floor. The first time since he’d left home. “Please,” he hissed as the other rocked on his toes, working his head through his jeans.

Stuart ceased, his grin falling. “Aw, do you want me to stop? Is it miserable to feel powerless; I wouldn’t know?” He took a step back, removing his foot, playing with him.

“Fuck you.”

“Wrong answer.” Murdoc yelped when the sole of the boot connected with his face. It rested on his cheek. He glared up at the other as the swollen portion of his face was pressed against the grime. “You’re going to do this for me, yeah? You’re gonna play this little game with me.”

The other growled beneath the heavy pressure, refusing to be totally dominated.

“I don’t think you understand your position.” He chuckled. “I’m going to sit in that chair, and you’re going to fuck yourself on my boot. You’re going to prove to me everything you said to me.” He leaned back, relieving some of the pressure. “Cyborg hasn’t stopped me yet and I’m sure there’s a good reason why.”

He straightened up, planting his foot just shy of the other man’s head. Their eyes locked and Stuart waited for him to jump up and start swinging. He didn’t. He laid on the floor, his dick still hard in his trousers. The younger man felt a bit of pride in his efforts to torture his abuser, turning to sit in his chair. Murdoc refused to move, watching him from the corner of his eye.

He sighed, brushing at his bangs. “Listen. I think you owe me this, and you’d even get to fuck me in a way. Sure, you’d just be getting off against my foot, this boot really, but that’s better than nothing while you’ve got yourself trapped out here.”

Finally, the Satanist moved, rolled onto his hands and knees. They ached as he crawled forward. His head was down as he approached Stuart, kneeling in front of him silently. He rocked his weight back onto his ankles. The position was uncomfortable, but presentation mattered. When nothing was said and the singer made no move to direct him, he slid closer.

“Ah!” A hand caught his chin and he winced as Stuart cradled his face. “Not just yet.” His empty eyes sparked and he leaned forward, uncomfortably close to his face to whisper, “you gotta make sure it’s nice and clean, hmm?”

He hadn’t quite leant back yet, his face still a few centimeters from the others; of which he took advantage, pressing a quick kiss against his lips, taunting the man. Murdoc leaned forward, despairing as the other sat back to his full height and knit his fingers together in his lap. Stuart smirked again, watching as the black-haired man’s face fell. He lifted his foot, rubbing the toe ever so slightly against the prominent bulge in his trousers. A quiet groan escaped the man as he presented his boot for him.

The taller was quiet, his eyes trained on the man kneeling in front of him. He wouldn’t confess to the spark the ran up his thigh when he leaned forward to press his lips against the side of his boot. He’d never admit to the heat when Murdoc’s tongue lolled, licking the thick PVC sole. It took a great deal of control to make no sound as the man sucked at toe. As the man watched him through his fringe, his tongue lapping at the underside of the boot.

He pulled his foot away, kicking the other’s shoulder when he noticed the feverish work of his hands against the front of his trousers. “Not yet,” he struggled to keep his voice steady as Murdoc eyed him.

The man bit back a smile and dropped his hands to the floor. When the boot was pressed against his lips, he moaned into it. He heard the soft gasp and caught the way Stuart’s eyes fluttered, _cheeky bastard_. He leaned in further, closing his eyes as he drank in the way the boot twitched against his tongue. It hadn’t been long enough for the man’s leg to be exhausted.

“Stop.”

He groaned. Stuart was shit at voice control. He was absolutely breathless, his voice cracking as he tried to command the man beneath him. His eye opened, pressing a dirty kiss to the toe in retaliation. He’d have to be a fool to miss the dark blush spreading across the other’s cheeks. _This_ was a development, one that Murdoc was quite the fan of.

The boot was set heavily against the ground, just in front of him. “Show me how much you need me.”

He grinned. His eye locked with the other’s, the vacant black distant as he stared. He crawled forward, nuzzling his cheek against 2D’s knee. His mouth fell open as he pressed himself against the boot. He groaned as he ground against the material. Stuart shivered at the desperation in the other’s movements; the way the Satanist’s brow furrowed and his eyes screwed shut as he fucked himself against the boot.

“Thank you,” Murdoc moaned against the fabric of the singer’s pants. His tongue slipped from his mouth as his head rocked back, an image that messed with the other’s head.

It buried itself deep in his mind, along with the sensation of Murdoc humping him. The way the man’s fringe just barely hid hazy eyes, just as calculating as he thrusted his hips against the tongue of the boot. The pink that blossomed along sharp cheekbones and the tips of ears. He bit his lip to hold in a moan as the other took hold of his leg, using it as leverage.

The drag of his cock against the boot was pushing him hard towards the edge, He’d lacked the genuine touch of another for a few months now, and the soft noises Stuart couldn’t keep from escaping were of no assistance in helping him to control his pace. Murdoc’s nails bit through the fabric of the other’s jeans as he drew closer to the edge. He flirted with it, holding out as he read the blue-haired man’s face. He moaned, eyelid fluttering as he rutted against the boot.

The Satanist grunted, choking as the air was knocked out of him. He’d been forced onto his back, taking a strong kick to the center of his chest. He spasmed on the floor, raspy groans as he struggled for air. His panicked eye locked with Stuart’s as the man stood. The other pressed down hard, stepping on his aching cock with enough force to shove him over the edge. He came with a mangled cry, soiling his pants as his back arched away from the floor. His fingers twitched as he came down.

Murdoc laid there on the tile. His chest heaving as he panted, finally catching his breathe. He ran his fingers through his fringe when he realized that the singer had disappeared; must have made a hasty retreat before the Satanist would have noticed the swell of his member in his jeans. His fist slammed down against the flooring. _You’ve mucked it all up again._

“Fuck…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not apologizing, nor am I explaining myself. :3


	10. Phase 3 - The Wires...

He whined. His voice soft as he buried himself beneath his sheets. He pulled them tight against his body as he got comfortable. Desperate to close his eyes and sleep; to let the time drift away and his pills to destroy the memory of today. Of Murdoc. He knew he wouldn’t be fortunate to eliminate it all in one night. That he’d wake up and the memory would still be there, but the question was which part would remain.

Would he be forced to recall the way Murdoc convulsed beneath his foot, cumming untouched. Or would the memory of him running to his room, frantically touching himself when the heat wouldn’t pass. Of his hands stroking firm with the image of Murdoc immovable in his mind. The way the man had arched against him, eager and wanting, and the blood that had rushed to his groin.

He dug his nails into his cheeks. He was hopelessly lost. This man had _abused_ him. There was no other word or phrase. The beatings, the names, the threats... _The abductions_ , he reminded himself. Tears came to his eyes as he thought of the damage the man had done to him. Lasting damage. More than the little scars that covered his arms and torso. It may have been a bit of a reach to call the loss of vision in both of his eyes abuse, since he hadn’t known he was going to injure him, but the second was evidence enough.

The man had taken over his world, forcing his way into his life and controlling him. He’d been stolen away at what may have been his last chance to have some normalcy to produce a new album without even the slightest consideration for his willingness. Trapped by miles of ocean and a fucking whale. Trapped by a bastard bassist who didn’t know what he wanted from him.

The man had held him like a china doll. He’d cradled him to his chest and whispered compliments into his ears, against his lips. The man had taken care of him: had fed him, bathed him, regulated his meds, and changed his diapers without second thought; the man had operated with experience.

It was the touch that made him ache the most now. The way his hands had run down his side, dancing over prominent ribs and hip bones. Fingertips and kisses tracing every marking, a small apology whispered to each one as the man straddled his thighs. His palms flush with the small of his back as he’d slept with him. The way the man had handled him, so lovingly, Stuart groaned at the thought, was triggering a migraine.

The soft touch was familiar to him, though he had never been touched by the Satanist before. At least… not like this. Not in a way that made him yearn for it. Tugging at the strings of his sanity. Threatening to drive him mad as he felt his body stir again. He whimpered against his sheets as he tried to ward away the feeling.

He struggled as his mind shifted. As the image of his captor, _that’s who he is_ , staring at him from the floor. Shaking his head, he tried to recall the times he’d stood above him, threatening him and nearly breaking his neck because he was jerking his head back to spit in his face. The image was quickly replaced. Replaced with the way he’d stood above him, half hard, before joining him in the bath. The warm water comforting as the man slid in behind him, strong arms wrapping around his torso to pull him flush against the other.

He bit back a groan as his cock twitched in his hand. Stuart whimpered as the memory continued. As he squeezed his hand tighter, remembering the way lips had brushed against his throat. The kisses that had been pressed there as hands had held him firm. His breathe against his neck, the electric shocks that had run along his spine. He ran the pad of his thumb over his weeping slit, smearing the pearl of precum as his hips jutted forward.

A moan escaped his lips as he remembered the tight grasp on his chin, a hand pressing past his lips. He sucked on his fingers, whining, the memory of the man’s tongue pressing into his mouth, tasting him. His eyes screwed tight at the intense memory, the feeling of his tongue against his own heavy on his mind.

His back arched as his focus shifted to the memory of the way he pressed against him. The roll of his hips against his lower back. The frenzied way he’d rutted against him. The press of his swollen member against him. He whined and forced his hand faster, the heat becoming unbearable as his memory stopped. There wasn’t anything else to recall because he’d pulled away, but he needed more.

His mind filled in the blanks. Images of Murdoc’s hands in place of his own, gripping him harder and stroking him with reckless abandon. His head fell back, the feel of a wet tongue sliding down his neck sent a shiver down his spine as his fingers, wet, trailed down his body. Rather than ending the memory there it replaced the sudden end with him being lifted against the other, just enough for a finger to trace his rim.

He panted, whining at the intrusion as he prodded a finger inside himself. The ache wasn’t enough as he stroked himself faster. Biting his lip, he pressed in another digit. His mind was quick to replace the walls of his basement room with the bassists; replacing his fingers with crooked ones that would know exactly where to press inside of him.

Thin fingers found what they were looking for. He was silent as he arched off the bed, his vision white behind his eyelids. His hand kept a steady pace as he worked himself through his orgasm, his hand absolutely filthy as it played at the head. His body trembled when he laid down, toes uncurling as he caught his breathe.

As the realization that he’d gotten off to his bandmate crossed his mind. It wasn’t a lasting thought, fading as he reached for a dirty shirt from the floor to clean up his mess. He didn’t want to think about it right now. He wanted to sleep it off, wanted to forget this nightmare all together. Forget that Murdoc wanted him, that he “loved” him. Forget the way the bassists touch made him feel, the ache when he saw him.

He curled onto his side, pressed tightly to the wall beneath the porthole.

_It’ll be better to forget…_

* * *

 

Murdoc lied on the floor. He’d picked himself up off the floor, frowning at the creak in his knee, before he’d headed to his bathroom. He’d peeled off the soiled clothes and cleaned away what remained, like the guilt clinging to his body. _You fucking piece of shit._ He tried to shut out the voice, returning to his bedroom. _You know that, right?_ His eyes rolled and he gripped the first bottle he could find. _You’ve ruined everything._ He unscrewed the cap and took a swig as he dropped onto his bed.  He’d avoided it since 2D had stormed out. The smell of him on the pillows too intense for him.

_If you let him go, he’ll never come back. He’ll spend his whole life running from you because you’ll never stop chasing him._

He pressed a hand to his forehead, brushing his fringe out of the way. He could never find peace. He drank from the bottle again, though he wasn’t sure if he was drinking to forget this breach of self-control or the way that Stuart reacted to him. The little gasps as his dominance cracked. His hatred for himself seemed only to grow the more he interacted with the singer.

_You keep hoping he’ll remember. You need to get over it, over him. All you’re doing is ruining everything by playing this little game._

Tears welled in his eyes and he tried to hold them back. No matter how much he drank and used, the memories were forever imprinted in his mind. He’d given his soul for this band, and he was destroying it because of one moment. One minute of his life that would haunt him until he couldn’t take it any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very excited about the next chapter... ;3


	11. Phase 3 - ...That Connect To Us

Stuart picked at his fingers, waiting for the lift to rumble to a stop. His head jerking up at the jarring bell that alerted him to it reaching the floor he needed. The doors opened and he peaked out into the hallway. _Empty_. The rest of his body slipped from the lift and he headed for the first door on the left, pushing it open to find a half bath. His attention turned to the door across the hall and he groaned when the knob refused to turn, _locked._

At the end of the hallway was the only other door, _this is it_. _Has to be._ He reached toward the handle, but paused. Realizing that he wouldn’t be the only person using the space, he pressed an ear to the door. Content with the silence on the other side, he turned to knob.

It was well equipped for a hastily built recording studio. A quality soundboard set on a rusting work bench. There were a few keyboards set against the wall and El Diablo on its stand and in excellent condition. He was curious how they were _supposed_ to make an album out here if they only had a bass and a Casio, but a quiet ding drew his attention to the laptop charging beside the soundboard.

It sat on a notebook, the cover cracked and torn. It was Murdoc’s personal journal. He’d never been so reckless with it while they had lived at Kong; and even on tour, he’d checked to ensure it was packed away safely before they left any location. His fingers twitched as he reached for it, compelled to flip through the man’s most intimate thoughts. Lifting the laptop, he smiled at the immature, graphic warning that was scrawled across its cover. He pressed the notebook against his chest as he took a seat on the floor.

The pages were dated, Murdoc’s scrawl in each corner. The first beginning while he was comatose, 1997. A picture, a fucking polaroid picture, of him. He stared at the image, at himself wrapped in thick blankets and held close to Murdoc. The man didn’t appear to even recognize that he was being photographed, his eyes focusing down on the tangled, blue head of hair against his chest. The lazy grin on his face as he watched his charge. He lifted it from the page, hand trembling at the warmth Murdoc radiated in the image.

It slipped from his grasp and fluttered down onto the pages again. The back taped with a little note, “I hope he remembers you.” It was his mother’s handwriting. His breathe hitched and he flipped the image back over. Starring intently on the limited distance between the bassist’s and his own face. A hand covered his mouth and he set the picture back down. He coughed, gagging as he panicked. Murdoc _had_ held him before. Those strangely familiar touches weren’t as foreign as he had first thought, hoped, that they would be.

He flipped a few more pages, careful not to tear away corners as he sought out something to calm him. A lyric, a limerick, anything… Rather he found another polaroid, a pressed flower hiding it.

It was him. Another of him and Murdoc. Of them cozied up together on a sofa. Fingers laced together between them. His other hand, resting on the other’s cheek, barely covering the way his lips were pressed to the other’s. The bright red of Murdoc’s cheeks. His eyes were open, huge as if he had been surprised.

Turning it over, he felt the bile in his throat. “Let’s hope next time he wakes up it’s for real.” He threw down the book and reached for the bin beneath the desk. He coughed, choking as his stomach tried to empty. His stomach felt knotted, painfully, in his throat as he bent over the little metal bin. He retched hard, his entire body contorting as he struggled. Only stomach acid came up, strands of spit hanging from his mouth as he panted. His eyes watered, starring down into the can. Wiping his mouth with the back of his arm he leaned his head back, letting the tears flow down his cheeks.

He looked at his hands. He didn’t have any memory of that room, of that sofa or blanket, of the way Murdoc held him. His eyes fell on the abandoned journal, a page torn from the force of the throw. He reached for it, flipping through it to check for more damage. There were a few more pictures, but he avoided them, couldn’t take any more surprises.

The dates caught up. 2008. He thumbed through the pages more slowly, pausing when he saw the lyrics for what had been sung to him. There were holes through the paper where Murdoc had crossed off lyrics that didn’t work, punching his pen trough the paper with the force of it. The words were hard to read, but it was there. The entirety of his idea, a few notes about instruments he wanted. He flipped the page, trying to ignore the words that were drifting back into his mind.

Another song, one of the few with a pre-written title: “Melancholy Hill”. He sighed and reached for the laptop. After all these years with Murdoc, a titled song was serious business. It would have a demo somewhere. Whether a file on his laptop or a tape recorder, it would exist. He yawned as he went through the files, finding a folder under his name and he very nearly opened it before he realized he may not want to see what was kept there.  The folder for “Melancholy Hill” was found and he opened it. All the individual layers of sound for the demo were there, and a quick scroll revealed the completed demo. He pressed play and set the laptop onto the floor, turning up the volume when he heard nothing.

The only way he could describe it was soft. Gentle guitar, and accompanying xylophone, it sounded like a lullaby. But it drew him in, particularly when the vocals started. Shaky and hushed, like it was only for him.

“Up on melancholy hill, there's a plastic tree. Are you here with me? Just looking out on the day of another dream.”

He sighed, looking back into the journal. He was tempted to join, to sing and get a feel for the track. When another verse started, he stayed silent, fingers tapping the beat against his ankles.

“Well you can't get what you want, but you can get me.” His breathe caught in throat. There was a desperation, as if to reach out for somebody, through the lyrics. Through the song. It was a confession, less a statement and more of a dejected beg. “So, let's set out to sea; ‘cause you are my medicine when you're close to me, when you're close to me.”

He paused the track. His head falling, chin resting on his chest. _Why is he doing this?_ He could feel tears as they rolled down his cheeks. After all the years he’d been nothing but a drunk monster. “I can’t…”

Stuart reached for the notebook, flipping forward to avoid the song. He frowned when he saw “Glitter Freeze,” before shaking his head and moving on. As he went through the final pages he found the song that Murdoc had sung to him. Everything told him to rip it out and throw it in the rubbish bin, so he ignored the song. Ignored the biting need to tear the entire journal, photos and all, in two. He turned the page. He couldn’t dwell on the embarrassment, the image of Murdoc holding him to his chest and trying to use a song to confess. His stomach flipped.

His heart ached. He couldn’t accept that Murdoc had any feelings towards anyone, least of all him. Closing the program on the computer he was faced with the files. His name making him pause. _Don’t do it._ His finger tapped the trackpad with little hesitation. He had to know what the man had hidden away about him.

Photos. They spanned the entire time that Murdoc knew him. Clumsy shots of a one-eyed man, bandages still covering his fractured orbit as he lay tucked into the other’s bed. Quality concert shots, his brow knit together as he reached toward the audience. Photos that the computer registered from only a month ago. A hand covered his mouth and he quickly scrolled past the rest of the images. The next thing in the folder were video files. Opening the first one he couldn’t help but gag. Murdoc was tapping the lens, snapping at somebody off screen before he tucked the camera into his jacket.

“Nobody will notice right,” his voice was muffled. “I can’t go back and you know that.” There was some acknowledgement and the man started to walk towards a building, the emporium. The jarring chime as the door opened. He could watch as he approached, quick steps to meet the older man. Murdoc adjusted the camera and he could see his face. “Hey, how’re you doing today?”

He could see the blush spreading across his cheeks as he stuttered some response. Eyes downcast. Wide blue, flickering back to steal glances at the Satanist. The two talked and suddenly he was walking away. Murdoc fixed the camera angle again and the whole screen was focused on his ass. On the not so subtle pinch to one cheek. He shut the file and opened the next one.

His mom. She held the camera in a mirror. She was smiling, tears rolling down her cheeks as she tried to speak. “Stuart, I hope you don’t need to watch this.” And then she left the mirror, walking down a filthy hallway to a living room. That ugly sofa, two sets of legs. He frowned when she pointed the camera at them. “Alright, boys.”

Murdoc grinned, big wet eyes not tearing away from the man laughing into his side. His smile, lazy as he pressed a hand against the other’s cheek. He brushed away blue bangs, biting back a sob as the other leaned into his touch. It was him. His good eye focused on the other man. On pressing a kiss against his cheek. A smile across his cheeks as he rested his head on the others shoulder.

“You’re lucid. I came over to check up on you two and I find you making him cry.”

“This mean I’ll remember?”

He watched his face fall when she shook her head, the camera jostled slightly.

An arm wrapped around his shoulders. “It’s alright Stu, I’m not good enough for you anyways.”

He slapped the other, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Why do you have to lie?”

The file was closed and he wiped at his eyes. _What is all of this? What happened?_ He found another video, it was much darker. He was sleeping, snuggled against Murdoc’s shoulder.

“Hey, Stu,” it was addressed to him, rather than the barely conscious Stuart beside him. “If you forget me, I’m Murdoc.” The man bit at his lip, clearly distraught. “I’m Murdoc and I’ve been taking care of you since I crashed my car through the front of the emporium. We had been flirting, though I wasn’t beating around the bush too much.” The camera shakes. “I just wanted to make you something if you wake up and leave me, ‘cause well…” He ran a finger down a pale shoulder. “I want to be with you, Stu. You were a riot at the shop and when you were lucid…when you said…” Big tears rolled down his cheeks. “You said something I thought I’d never hear in my life, and your mom nearly shit herself. You cheeky little bastard,” he gasped out as he tried to get it out, “you fucking looked me in the eye and said you loved me.

“Please, when you wake up…don’t forget me. Don’t forget what you feel. Don’t forget the way you make me feel. If I lost you…I’d lose everything that has ever kept me here, kept me stable.” He pressed a kiss into the top of a blue head. “Please don’t leave me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I'm so slow and so off canon.


	12. Phase 3 - Weightless and Fall on Your Body

He closed the file. Shutting the laptop, he returned it and the notebook to where they belonged. He’d barely plugged it in before he heard footsteps just outside the door. There was nowhere to go, so he stood his ground. He stepped over to the keyboards.

The door swung open, just missing him. Wide eyes focused on him. “Oh, oh. I-I’m sorry. D’you need a minute?”

He shook his head. The other slowly stepping in and past to take hold of his notebook. He stumbled and dropped into the chair by the soundboard. A bottle slipping from his grasp, thudding onto the floor. He could feel his eyes on him, watching the way he bent over to test how well the keys responded.

“’Dents? Di-Did-D’you wanna record stuff or are you just snooping.”

He stood up to his full height, leaning over Murdoc. “It’s a little of both, but it’s mostly an idea for a song.”

The man nodded, losing his balance in his drunken haze. He laughed, sprawled across the floor with a heavy thud. 2D stepped over him and towards the sound booth. His nose crinkled at the sight of all the bassist. He was shitfaced. He was gone. Stuart couldn’t tell whether it was to cope with him knowing about his lust or his normal self, _but what if that was never his normal?_ He rolled his eyes and entered the booth.

The slamming of the door pulled Murdoc from his own mind. He crawled back into the chair, pausing to take a swig from his bottle before turning his attention to his singer. He turns on the soundboard and the audio from the booth. It takes a moment to line things up, but he manages to connect the laptop to the soundboard. Pressing on the intercom, he grins.

“Rrrright, so d’you wan’ me to start recording or r’ya gonna need a sound ta’ start off wif?”

“Just hit record.”

He puts his hands up, eyes fluttering shut. Pressing the button he checks that its recording on the laptop. Murdoc nods to the other, letting him know to begin when ready. He leans back in his chair. His attention alternates between the laptop screen and the younger man, taking sips of rum as he waited for the other to start.

“Distant stars,” his voice cracked ever so slightly as he tried to replicate the voice on the demo. That soft, needy sound coming through with only some of the emotions that the other had portrayed. “Come in black or red. I’ve seen their worlds, inside my head.”

The bassist’s interest was piqued by the words and by the voice that the singer was using. He leaned forward at the mention of the stars colors, tempted to touch his own eyes. The bottle, again, fell to the floor. His heart was racing and he couldn’t play it cool. The singer has his full attention.

“They connect with the fall of man. They breathe you in and dive as deep as they can.” It’s clear to the singer, exactly how he’s being watched. He sways, a hand rising up his thigh. His voice begins to lift as he continues, “There’s nothing you can do for them. They are the force between, when the sunlight is arising.

“There’s nothing you can say to him; he is without a heart, and the space has been broken.”

A blush spreads across Murdoc’s face. Wide eyes starring through Stuart, taking in the way his body moves to an unheard rhythm. It’s about him. He’s certain. A hand pushes through his greasy fringe and he can feel his hips burning. He needs to get closer to the other man.

“It’s broken, our love,” his voice dipped. Fingers dipped in turn, Murdoc biting his lip as he pressed against himself. His head rocked back as the chorus repeated.

“Is it far away, in the Glitter Freeze? Or in our eyes, every time they meet.”

The Satanist glanced back at the other, catching the half-lidded expression of the singer’s face. His eyes lolled back and he groaned at the warmth in his body, the pressure against his groin. As subtle as he could, he undid the buttons and the fly of his trousers. He grasped himself, just out of sight of the booth’s occupant.

“It’s by the light of the plasma screens, we keep switched on, all through the night while we sleep. There’s nothing you can do for them; they are the force between, when the sunlight is arising.” Stuart smirked at the expression on the other’s face. Hazy eyes locked on him, his elbow twitching in a perfect rhythm. “There’s nothing you can say to her; I am without a heart, and the space has been broken.”

He stopped singing, but the bassist didn’t notice. Didn’t notice as the booth’s door was opened. “Fuck… Stu,” he moaned, causing the other man to snort as he stopped the recording. At the sound he startled, hand freezing on his length.

“I take it you liked it, yea?”

He doesn’t answer, can’t answer. His eyes remain locked with his bandmate’s, waiting for some outburst, some response. The only thing he can think to do is continue, and he does. He’d call it subtle, but as he guides his hand up his shaft he can’t miss the way the that Stuart’s back twitches. Swiping his thumb over the head, he hisses.

“You’re disgusting.”

He nods, gripping himself just a little harder. There wasn’t a way to hide the way his singer’s voice had trembled. Even if he couldn’t see it, Murdoc could tell the other was watching. Watching as he stroked himself. Hand sliding up and down his length.

“Am I?”  Stuart nodded, his cheeks turning pink. His hand jerked. He leans his head back against the chair, watching the younger man through his eyelashes. “But you’re watching me.” He chuckles.

Stuart’s brows furrow. “You’re doin’ it in the middle of the studio, how can I not see?”

He takes in a shaky breath as his hand speeds up, smearing his precum down the shaft. “I said watching…” He moans. “You’re watching, mate.” His hips bucked forward at the indignant sound the other made. Murdoc gripped harder, aching with need as he fucked his hand.

He paused, tongue poking out as he breathed heavily. His eyes shifted from the singer’s face to his groin. A wicked smile spanned his lips and he slid from his chair.  He crawled toward the other man, gripping his thighs through his dirty jeans. Leaning forward, eyes focused on the other’s face, he pressed his lips to the seam in an open-mouthed kiss. He could feel him twitch against his face.

“Murdoc…” The warning came out weaker than he wanted. His voice catching in his throat.

He hummed, reaching to clasp the zipper with his teeth and drag it down. A hand was set on his shoulder, neither as a sign of approval nor a refusal. It rested there as he undid the button and slid his trousers down his thighs. He brushed his cheek against the smooth skin, kissing the pale flesh. He nibbled when a soft sigh escaped from the man above him.

One arm wrapped around his leg, nails biting just enough to cause the skin to dip deliciously beneath his touch. The other pressed against Stuart’s cock. He rocked the palm and heel against it, smirking when another hand found his shoulder. Bowing his head, he nuzzled the bulge in his bandmate’s briefs. Fingers squeezed his shoulders as it twitched against him.

He rolled down the cotton pants and patted his hip gently. Watching his face, he slid closer to the other man. Fingers slid over the other’s member, almost too light. Stuart gasped, hips rolling forward. Murdoc grinned and wrapped his fingers around the base of the singer’s dick. He was gentle, slowly stroking the other.

He buried his nose in the man’s groin. His eyes rolled back as he breathed in Stuarts’s scent, “Fuck.”

A quiet whimper and he pulled away from the other, his hand stilling. “Murdoc…”

“Alright?”

“Please…”

Thin fingers dug into his back. “You gotta tell me, love.”

He shivered against him, “don’t make me.” Murdoc went to slide away from the other when he felt a hand grip at his hair. “No…don’t go.”

“Ahhh.” He chuckled, “You don’t want to beg?” 2D shook his head, biting his lip as he felt nails stinging his hips. “Don’t wanna tell me you need me?”

He obliged as he was brought back against him, led by the vice-like grip on his roots. He wasted no time, pressing his tongue against the head of the singer’s dick. Flicking the tip over the slit. He gasped as he licked his length. His tongue rising from base to head. It twisted around the head, making him squirm against him. Murdoc hissed as the singer’s grip grew even tighter.

“Mudz…”

His eyes glanced up. Stuart’s face was completely red, his lips bleeding from where he chewed at them. His brows were furrowed together and his nose crinkled. His chest heaving. He was more beautiful than the day he’d stood up from the wreck. He whined when he saw Murdoc staring at him.

His eyelashes fluttered as he drew him into his mouth. Murdoc hummed, watching as his head fell back. He took him to his base, hollowing his cheeks. Drawing back, he kissed his singer’s head. The whimper he got as repayment was gorgeous. He leaned in again, groaning at the feeling of the man’s cock heavy on his tongue.


	13. Phase 3 - 'Till we're invisible

_He tries not to flinch at the gore. The film has only just started, but you could tell that you were going to hate it. All this horror and grotesque, he shuddered. It was gross. He didn’t care if it ruined his reputation amongst his peers, but he did care about what his friends thought. Friend, really._

_He leaned back in the stiff theatre seat. Glancing beside him, he scooted slightly closer to the armrest that divided them. His shoulder brushed his friend’s. He ignored it, pretended that it was unintentional. His eyes squeezed shut when a man’s head was battered against the wall, fingers gripping at the seams of his jeans as he tried to block out some of the screams._

_An arm wrapped around his shoulders. He glanced to his right, his friend lifting the armrest with his spare hand before pulling him closer. Their thighs brushed and he couldn’t help but smile. He leaned his head against his friend’s, grateful for the way his fingers played with the edge of his sleeve. The small circles that were traced into his shoulder._

_“Pot,” a hushed whisper in his ear._

_He hummed as he felt a hand press against one of his one. Their palms met and fingers twitched into place, interlocking, and made the pair smile. His thumb ran along his own, fingers squeezing gently when he felt him tensing._

_“Thanks.”_

_His heart was racing. Whether it was a graphic horror on the screen or the way his breathe warmed the skin behind his ear, he couldn’t tell. It was probably both. But all he could do was pull his head away. He grunted when he noticed Stuart moving, questioning him until he leaned in again._

_Their lips brushed. He started at the sudden scream, giggling against his lips. The other smiled against him. They were in their own world in the back row. Quiet, chaste pecks their language as the film rolled on. As a stupid lover brought some redhead back to life. As a man stood up to leave the auditorium. He turned to head towards the back, towards the exit out into the lobby._

_“Tusspot?” His eyes blew wide. His lips stilled and fell agape. “Tusspot? That you?”_

_The man started up the steps to the back few rows. Wide eyes met his own and a hand quickly tugged him from his seat. They both fled out the other exit, Stuart tripping only once over his own feet. Rather than ducking into the bathrooms next to the auditorium, the pair bolted towards the front of the theatre. They made it outside and down the block, driven by the sound of their trainers clapping the sidewalk. Turning a corner, they crumpled against one another behind an alley rubbish bin._

_He pressed his hand to his cheek, warm brown eyes meeting his. “You alright?”_

_Nodding, Stuart grinned. He shook as he laughed at their predicament, “sorry we didn’t get to finish the movie.”_

_“It’s fine,” he shrugged, playing with the azure hair on the back of his neck._

_Leaning in, he made a small promise to make it up to him, kissing him gently. The pair were giddy as adrenaline raced through their systems; excited and terrified by the man who recognized them. To his credit it was not hard to identify the only teenager in town with brilliant blue hair. Especially when it was still only about three in the afternoon._

_“You can’t be for real, yea?”_

_They froze, Stuart turning to face the man. He pressed back against the wall when he saw his face. “Al…”_

_“Of course your name’s Tusspot,” he chuckled and took a step closer. “So, which one of you is the girl, huh? Is it you?”_

_He pinned Stuart against the wall. His fist pounding into his center, knocking the breathe from his lungs. The other gasped as his leg reared back before kicking him in the face. He groaned. He could feel the blood draining from his busted lip, splattering on the concrete._

_“Don’t touch him.”_

_Eyes rolled. “You really gonna do that? Would you rather I did this to you?” He stomped, hard, on his leg. Stuart bit his finger to stifle the wail that was drawn from his chest._

_His eyes turned towards the green that were torn between him and Al. He shook his head, quietly begging him to let him take the beating. Suddenly he realized he was_ being _shaken. His breathe came out in hurried whines at the tight squeeze on his arms. A scream was building in his chest, but he hadn’t screamed…not before…_

His eyes parted and the world was a blur. He panicked, trying to pull away from the tight grip on his arms. His face was hot and he could feel the tears rolling down his cheeks as the hands loosened their hold.

“Stuart?”

He whimpered. Eyes meeting with Murdoc’s. _No. Just take me back, don’t…_ He parted his lips to speak, but a whine slipped out in place of his words. Without hesitation he was drawn against his chest. He sobbed, almost screaming as his weak fists bumped against the other. It took some time, but eventually a real word made it past his lips…

“Why?”

The elder leaned him back just enough to make eye contact. “Whaddya’ mean? Weren’t you having a nightmare?” Before he could answer, he could feel the man’s chest hair against his cheeks. “Cyborg reported that you started squirming and screaming, so I thought I’d wake you up.” Lips pressed against his throat.

He bit back a sob. “It wasn’t a nightmare.”

Hands smoothed down his sides, one stroking down his back. “What was it?”

“A memory,” he groaned as Murdoc nipped at his neck. “Stop, please.”

The man pulled away from him, slow and cautious. “Was it at least a good memory?”

Stuart nodded, feeling the tears as they rolled more heavily down his cheeks. “I mean, it’s as good as it can get.”

“What’s it of?”

He eyed the man, not believing it was _the_ bassist of Gorillaz pressed against him. That he was attentive and trying to care. “My friend.”

Murdoc nodded, “what happens?”

“We’re at the movies and this asshole chases us out,” he refused to look Murdoc in the eye, knowing full well the elder would realize he was withholding information. “He beat the shit out of me, it’s the last time I saw him because he was gone that night.”

“Gone?”

He looked at his hands, brow furrowed. “He killed himself,” his voice weak. “Wasn’t allowed to go to the burial, ‘rents blamed me.”

Murdoc looked at the singer with wide eyes. He reached for the singer, his fingers just brushing his fists before they were withdrawn. He knew better. Leaning back, he gave the man his space.

“I’m sorry.”

Stuart snorted at his response, “Never thought I’d hear _the_ Murdoc Niccals apologize to or sympathize with another human being.”

He looked away, brushing his knuckles against his nose. “This is different ‘Dents.” He stood from the bed. “I get it now. I’m sorry.”

He walked out the door and down the hall, bootsteps almost silent as he left. He left Stuart to sit there, in awe of that moment. He wouldn’t think twice of it, he knew that; that as soon as he fell asleep again, the blue-haired man would forget he had confided in him. Crooked fingers toyed at his fringe as the elevator ascended. It was all over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can guess the film I may be a little sweeter next chapter :3 Maybe actually get a chapter or two done :3


	14. Phase 3 - I'm with you throughout it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Where are we going?   
> To Hell... in a handbasket....

Murdoc leaned against the balcony, watching the tide. It lapped at the island, holding it together as it tried to tear it apart. Little fissures would appear from time to time, but they’d always disappear under the hot sun and choppy sea. He smacked a fist against the concrete, shaking his head when he realized he was thinking about himself again. Thinking about him and Stuart.

He grimaced, watching Cyborg inspect a small crack by the dock. They were falling apart. Not like lovers, “not even friends anymore,” he scoffed. He was losing his mind and it was pushing Stuart away. Every attempt to bring him closer, to hold him, drove him further.

This whole… _thing_ had almost become a game. One of them would have power over the other, take charge and torment. They could pleasure one another, use it as a means to gain power. He didn’t want to play. He wanted to sit Stuart down and tell him what he wanted, what he hoped they could achieve and have together. He rubbed his face, _he’ll never believe you’re serious._

The door opened, he didn’t look back to see who it was. Cyborg was still patrolling the beach below. He coughed, reaching into his pocket for a carton, “what is it ‘Dents?”

Stuart came to stand beside him. He didn’t turn to face the bassist, keeping his focus on the horizon as he rested his elbows on the edge. “Murdoc,” he paused, knowing it’d sound too harsh no matter how he spoke, “what is this?”

“The smell of rubbish, or us?”

Stuart rolled his eyes, adjusting as the concrete bit into his arms. “This thing that we’ve been doing. Me getting you off; you getting me off.” He glanced over at the other, watching his face as he murmured, “you keeping secrets.”

Murdoc stood up straight, stubbing out the spent fag on the balcony before flicking it out to the island, to become a part of it. His eyes settled on 2D’s watching as he turned his face away again. “What secrets do you think I’ve been keeping from you?”

Stuart bit his lip, something about the past few weeks convinced him that he wouldn’t be hurt if he sassed the other. That they’d moved beyond the beatings and foul language. They were walking an edge and if nothing was done they’d tumble back into the pit, tearing each other to bits as they went. He looked up at Murdoc, eyes narrowed.

“You’re the one with the freaking diary.”

Murdoc nodded, tapping the bottom of the carton against the edge of the balcony. “I assume you’ve been through the laptop too?” He set a cigarette between his lips, nodding when Stuart confessed. “Then you know.” He shrugged, “it’s all right there.”

Stuart shook his head, “no.” His lips pulled up in a grin as his brow furrowed. “You can’t just expect me to believe you’re okay with me going through something personal of yours.”

Murdoc chuckled, “it’s probably a good thing you went through it anyways.” He tucked the carton back in his pocket and gripped his lighter tightly behind his hand, blocking the wind as he lit the end of his cigarette. His eyes out on the waves, not focused on the waves as he felt Stuart’s discomfort, his anger. He took a drag, sighing as he exhaled, “go ahead, spill it.”

Stuart stood up to his full height, “what do you want me to say? I don’t even know what I saw; I don’t remember any of that.” He looked back towards the door. Running his fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp as if that might get the words to form and spill from his lips, he stuttered, “what was that?”

Murdoc didn’t look up, couldn’t face him, the reality of the moment. “We met before the first accident. I thought you were just a bored brat, but you had life, an attitude. We started flirting while I scoped out the shop, but then I fucked that all to shit when I mowed you down going through the storefront.” He carefully took his cigarette, tapping away the ash as he rubbed his face. “I couldn’t leave when I saw you there. I hadn’t thought of you as more than some kid to dick around with, but I panicked. They arrested me and sentenced me to take care of you. Best part of my life, really.”

“Why?” Stuart snapped. “I couldn’t talk back?” The sneer on his face was ignored.

Murdoc turned to address him, eyes dark, “you don’t need to be like this. Let me fucking finish.” He adjusted against the balcony, his gaze locked with the other’s as he smoked. “It was the best part of my life,” he paused, waiting for further interruption but was only met by the role of his eyes, “it was because I could finally be something other than a monster I could be there for somebody, take care of somebody, just be with somebody, with you.” He smiled softly, shoulders rolling as he shifted feet. “It got to a point where I petitioned for you to be wholly in my care. To stop the going back and forth, to keep you with me.

“Your mom signed off on it, let you stay at my place.” He watched him from the corner of his eyes; Stuart stood still, fingers still as he took it all in. “You slept in my bed beside me; I was convinced I couldn’t be without you. You grounded me, gave me something to stick around for. Then you woke up,” the memory stopping him, bittersweet tears in his eyes as he looked away. “You were alive. You were real again. You touched me, kissed me, said you wanted to stay, but then it was all gone again.

“You were a fucking corpse again, and I was so angry. I was so heartbroken to see you so helpless again.” Wiping the tears from his eyes, he focused on his hands. He took one last drag from the cigarette, letting it fall to the ground before he crushed it beneath his shoe, smearing black ash across the concrete. “I gave everything to you, anything I could give, because I wanted the next time to be for real. That there would be a next time. I hoped to never lose you again.” Murdoc looked towards him, eyes red as his fists clenched and relaxed in a reflexive cycle, his voice raising with each statement, “I did though. You finally woke up, stood there with half your face nothing but gore, limping back towards the car, could barely remember my name.

“I resented you. I felt so betrayed. That I had given you everything; protected you and loved you. And you still forgot _everything_.”

Stuart grimaced, voice soft as he finally spoke again, “it’s not like I chose to forget any of that.”

Murdoc sobbed, the sound ugly as he shouted, “You think I don’t know that? I knew you couldn’t help it.” His fists clenched tighter, trembling as the hung over the balcony. “I hated myself and in some fucked up way decided I’d never let you hurt me again. So, I started to hurt you.” Sharp nails punctured his palms, he grunted at the sting of it. “I abused you to push you away. It’s something I can never take back, something I can never be forgiven for.”

“Murdoc?”

“I’m sorry, Stuart. I did everything.” He sniffled, smearing snot along his sleeve. “I did everything I could to stop loving you. To make you hate me.”

“Murdoc, look at me.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Stop.”

Stuart wrapped him in his arms. Pulling him flush against his chest, a scowl on his face. Murdoc fought against it. Growling and screaming at the touch. Stuart bit into his lower lip as nails dug into the meat of his arm. Little “I’m sorry’s” spilling out as the bassist soaked his shirt.

“Murdoc,” his voice finally breaking through the man’s whimpers. Murdoc looked up, waiting for some cruel truth, a harsh word, but heard nothing. Stuart struggled to find the right words, opting to remain silent when none came.

Murdoc wheezed against him, “just say it, please; spit it out.”

Stuart shook his head. “You’ve hurt me. Busted my teeth, beat me, you gassed and kidnapped me. I hate… that part of you. That you let this get a hold of you. I care about you, maybe not in as intense a way as you feel about me. It’s not love, but I care for you.” His fingers rose to brush against Murdoc’s cheeks.

Murdoc cringed away from them. “You aren’t s’posed to say that. You should want me dead; should ask for me to let you go and to never come near you again.”

“Shut up.” Stuart gripped his chin. Fingers tight, pinching the skin around Murdoc’s mouth, earning a snarl. “You don’t know what I want.”

“It’s not healthy. I don’t get what I want; I shouldn’t.” the words struggled out of the forced shape of his mouth.

Stuart cocked a brow at him, a sick smirk on his face. “Then don’t think about it like that.” His hand loosened on Murdoc’s face, sliding to curl his fingers beneath his chin, tilting his head up further. “Give me what I want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got most of the next chapter outlined. I promise not to abandon you all again! (I may have my fingers crossed)


End file.
